Lettre
by ang3lm3l0dy
Summary: A letter written before the dawn of the revolution. It was for his sister, and she began to live with his IDEA, the CAUSE, he fought and died for.


_**So before you start reading, here are the translations before you read the story. :D**_

*ma petit sœur-my little sister  
*mes amis-my friends  
*demain matin-tomorrow morning  
*mère-mother  
*père-father  
*bonne nuit-good night  
*amis-friends  
*frère-brother  
*ma cher frère-my dear brother  
*de Noël-Christmas Day  
*oui-yes

* * *

It was de Noël of 1833. Marianne Antoinette Enjolras was all alone at the cemetery. No, she wasn't crying, if that's what you were thinking. Sweet Marie of the jet black hair and dark blue steadfast eyes was just—well, she was just there. She was looming over one tombstone, just standing there.

"Frère," she muttered. "It has been nearly a year since you… since you've been… since you've been _gone_."

Saying this, she handled fondly the two letters that were in her pocket.

The first one came from the Surète's Commanding Officer, telling her that her brother had been killed during the révolution.

_Dear Miss Enjolras,_

_It is my sad duty to inform you, that Apollinaire Francois Enjolras, the leader of the failed r_è_volution, was killed, when we engaged in a fight. _

_We searched through his things, and found many of the letters sent to you, so we decided to send this to you. I also regret to inform you, that, other than his sketches, letters, notes, and books, we burned everything, for fear that if someone reads his works about the r_è_volution, they would start one. Please understand that we are not insulting your brother, you, nor your family, but protecting you and the citizens of France from any danger._

_ Your brother fought bravely, and with fortitude. I am sorry to have to write of his demise. I leave it to you to inform his people. Please let me extend my condolences._

_Signed_:  
_Charles Louis de Champlain  
Commanding Officer of the Surète_

"Apollinaire Francois Enjolras." She whispered the encryption on the tombstone, and smiled. "Apollo."—that was what he was called, out of fun and mischief and teasing. She was the one who started it, because when she was younger she cannot say Apollinaire—something that infuriated him so much, she remembered. The only thing she could say is Apollo, and hence, the nickname. The name seemed to stick though, because she heard that his amis calls him that too. She never knew all of his amis, but she learned their characteristics and attitudes due to her brother's and Monsieur Combeferre's letters.

Sighing, she opened the second letter, and read it—the letter that contained her brother's glorious gift and splendid ideals. She knows the letter by heart because she reads it every day. It hurts. It hurts reading a letter when you know the writer is dead and is someone _close _to you. And yet, it _still_ makes her happy. The first time she read the letter, she read it in Apollo's room, where they last talked. The first time she read it, Marie understood what the _sweet _in bittersweet really means.

The letter is as follows, dated at June, 1832.

_Dear Marianne:_

_I'm sorry I was not able to see you again after the night father signed me in a boarding school; I saw how les pauvres were suffering. I just had to help them, Marie. Don't worry about me, I am fine. _

_Demain matin would be the start of révolution, ma petit sœur—the rising of the barricades. I wrote Mére yesterday, but somehow, I feel as if I must write you tonight. I hadn't planned any writing, but, as grandma used to tell before, it was __**'laid on me'**__ to write you tonight. There are some things I want to say to you before—well, before tomorrow._

_You, Mére, Chela, Ann, Lia and Pére—is he still angry to me about joining the __**Cause**__?—you all seem strangely near to me tonight. It's the first time I've felt ever since I came. Always, home has seemed __**far away**__—so __**hopelessly**__ far away. But tonight, it is quite __**close**__ to me—it seems I can __**almost**__ see you, hear you talk, hear you laugh._

_Marie, the drums of revolution will sound tomorrow. I would follow the music—the beat of the drums. That I'm sure of. And Marie, I'm not afraid. I shall __**never**__ be afraid of anything again—not of death— nor of life, if, after all, I am to go on living. Whether it is life or death, I'm not afraid, ma petit sœur, and I am not sorry that I came. I'm satisfied. I've helped to make France better for the future. Yes, I'm glad that I came, Marie. It isn't only the fate of les pauvres that is in the balance—nor of France. It's the fate of mankind. That is what I—and mes amis are fighting for. And we shall win—never for a moment doubt that, Marie. For, as someone wrote once, "It isn't only the __**living **__who are fighting—the __**dead **__are fighting too. Such an army __**cannot **__be defeated."_

_I just want to say something that may help you over the worst if push comes to shove and I have to—well, to go. I have a premonition for you, ma petit sœur, that there are long years of happiness for you. And you will tell your children the __**Cause**__ mes amis and I are fighting for and will die for—teach them it must be __**lived**__ for as well as died for, or else the value paid for it will have been given for nothing. This will be part of your work Marie. And if __**you**__—all you girls there—do it, and then we who don't come back will know that you have not 'broken faith' with us._

_I will write again when I get the chance. I'm having a fine time, don't worry about me. I haven't actually had to kill anybody yet._

_Tomorrow, when the révolution starts, I'll think of you—of your laughter ma petit sœur. Yes, you'll keep faith—I'm sure of that._

_And so—bonne nuit. The barricades will arise tomorrow._

_Your good frère, always,  
_Apollinaire Francois Enjolras

"Bonne nuit, ma cher Frère." She whispered silently. Taking the letter, she pressed it against her lonely lips. She had no right in the eyes of her world to grieve. She must hide and bear her long pain as best as she could—alone. "Oui, I would keep faith."


End file.
